“I love him as if he were my own.  Sometimes I have thought I ought to try and see if any of his relatives would help us, but I cannot bear to, and so we have just worried along as we could.  But Phil needs a doctor and medicine, and more than I can give him.”

“He shall have all he needs, and you too,” said Miss Schuyler, warmly.

At this Lisa broke down, the kind words were so welcome.  And the two women cried together; but not long, for Miss Schuyler rose and got Lisa some refreshing drink, and made her take off her bonnet and quiet herself, and then said: 

“Now we must plan a change for Phil, and see how soon it can be accomplished.  And you must leave that tiresome shop, and I will give you plenty of work to do.  See, here are some things I bought to-day that I shall have to wear this summer.”

She opened the packages—­soft sheer lawn and delicate cambric that gave Lisa a thrill of pleasure just to touch once more, for she loved her work.  “I shall be so glad to sew again, and I wish I had some of my work to show you.”

“Oh, I know you will do it nicely.  I am going out of town in a few days, and I want you and Phil to go with me.  Do you think you can?”

“I am a little afraid,” said Lisa, hesitating, “that we are not fit to; and yet—­”

“I will see to all that.  Now I suppose you cannot leave Phil alone much longer—­besides, there is a shower coming.  To-morrow I will bring a doctor to visit the dear boy, and we will see what can be done”; and she put a roll of money in Lisa’s hand, assuring her that she should be as independent as she pleased after a while, and repay her, but that now she needed help, and should have it, and that henceforth Phil was to be theirs in partnership.

Lisa hurried away with a light heart.  She had indeed toiled and suffered, striven early and late, for the child of her affections, and this timely assistance was a source of great joy.

She was too happy to heed the dashing shower which was now falling.  Herself she had never thought of, and her dear Phil now was to be helped, to be cheered, perhaps to be made strong and well, and able to do all that his poor weak hands had tried to do so ineffectually.

She opened the door softly when she reached her room.  A little shiver of sweet, sad sounds came from the wind harp.  She lighted a candle, and looked into the pale face of the sleeping child as he lay in an attitude of weariness and exhaustion, with hands falling apart, and a feverish flush on his thin cheeks.

“My poor Phil!  I hope help has not come too late,” she whispered, as she began her preparations for his more comfortable repose.